


That Time Mr. Stark Became Tony

by StellaLuna365



Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Except Justin, Gen, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Justin Hammer is a cockroach, Peter Parker is Precious, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vision is a Good Bro (Marvel), give everyone a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaLuna365/pseuds/StellaLuna365
Summary: While investigating a tip about a drug distribution in Queens, Peter encounters one of Mr. Stark's old enemies with an unhealthy grudge against the billionaire. And when Peter becomes unable to save himself, will Mr. Stark get there in time? Give it a try please! One-Shot. I wrote this instead of sleeping. T for language.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Tony Stark & Vision
Comments: 11
Kudos: 128





	That Time Mr. Stark Became Tony

“Hey, you’re that Spiderman everyone’s been talking about, right?”

Peter started, glancing down from where he was perched on a low roof, scanning the city for danger. He was in the middle of his patrol, and so far, he’d stopped three muggings and one convenience store robbery in about two hours, which was a pretty busy night for him.

A man in sunglasses (even though it was dark; reminded him of Mr. Stark) and dark clothes looked up at him, his expression unreadable behind the glasses. He had a lollipop in his mouth, swirling it around lazily.

“Yeah,” Peter said, sitting on the ledge and looking down. “What can I do for you?”

The man gave what was probably supposed to be a benign smile, but Peter shivered; he didn’t feel good about this guy. “Heard you guard these parts. Just thought I should let you know, I heard something’s going down tomorrow night at a warehouse two blocks south of here. Might be a drug deal, and some kids should be there.”

Peter nodded. Unfortunately, drugs had become a big thing on these streets, and the dealers singled out kids sometimes younger than he was to do the dealings. He’d be there.

“Alright, sir,” he said, firing off a web. “I’ll check it out. Your friendly Neighborhood Spiderman thanks you!”

The man chuckled, watching the spider swing away. “No, Spiderman,” he said, taking off his glasses and peering into the distance. “Thank _you_.”

…

Peter swung home, flipping between skyscrapers and scaling walls like there was no tomorrow. He needed to get home and look into what the man had told him. He also needed to call Happy.

He swung into his bedroom window quietly. Even though May knew about his nightly adventures, he tried not to wake her coming home at night. Mostly because she needed to sleep, but also because she always got this… _look_ on her face, when she saw him in costume, and Peter tried to avoid that.

Happy was probably asleep when he called, so he left a message about the man’s warning and finished his Spanish homework before opening his laptop. He’d asked Mr. Stark to teach him some simple hacking skills, and put them to use hacking into some of the shadier websites that the dealers in New York used to recruit kids.

He checked the chatter. Yeah, the man’s tip was legit; something was going down the next evening at the warehouse. From what he read, he concluded that a huge shipment of a new drug called Angel was coming in, and would be distributed to the kids for sale.

_Well_ , Peter thought as he turned in for the night. _Not if he could help it_.

…

Peter was restless all through the next day. He sent Happy a text with the websites that confirmed the man’s tip, and went to school, promising May he’d be back right after school to finish his homework before going out on patrol. He didn’t tell her about the whole drug dealing thing; she’d flip.

School was okay. He and Ned messed around in gym, since they had a really laid-back sub, and he and Michelle talked a little during lunch. Honestly, he was a little nervous about the thing tonight. Something about it just gave him the chills, especially that man he’d met yesterday.

He got through school and called Happy. Happy said the sites looked legit, and that as long as he wasn’t getting in over his head, he should be fine. He also reminded him to call if anything looked fishy. Peter promised he would.

He met Aunt May at home and finished his homework. He had some extra free time, so they watched a movie together, one of those horrible Lifetime movies, but it was nice to just relax together. He really needed to spend more time with his aunt. They ate some of her famous lasagna, and after that she read in the armchair while he sat on the couch and finished his AP Chemistry PowerPoint project due next week.

He tried to ignore Aunt May’s thinly veiled disappointment when he said he was going out on patrol, with the promise to be back by midnight if possible, one a.m. at the latest. (Aunt May hadn’t been happy about a curfew that late, but after some bargaining—well, more like begging and pleading—on Peter’s part, she’d budged).

He swung through the streets until he reached the warehouse and perched on a building across the street, watching and waiting for any signs of life.

He thought about the guy who’d tipped him off. He’d been blond, average height…normal, really. He looked a little weaker than most, but then again, so did Peter, so that really wasn’t much to go by. Peter just couldn’t shake off the chills the guy gave him. And then he felt stupid and paranoid, because seriously, this was going to be fine.

He shook his head, trying to physically scatter his thoughts. He was being paranoid, that was it.

He waited for someone to enter the building. And waited. And waited. And _waited_.

He waited so long he ended up playing virtual Go Fish with Karen.

“Got any twos?” Peter asked, idly sitting with his head propped up on his hands, legs dangling over the ledge of the roof, swinging back and forth in complete and utter _boredom_.

_“I have two twos, Peter,”_ Karen replied, and on the display inside Peter’s mask, the twos shifted to Peter’s hand. He used the twos he already had a made his fifth book, pulling ahead of Karen’s four.

Peter sighed, ignoring Karen’s prompt to ask for another card. “Karen, do you see anything I’m missing? Another entrance I don’t have covered or something? Or do I have the wrong building entirely?”

Suddenly, Peter’s display switched to thermal, and he saw multiple glowing red-orange dots moving around inside the building. _“Actually, Peter, you haven’t seen anyone because everyone was already inside_.”

“ _What_?” Peter yelled, shooting off a web and swinging towards the warehouse. “Karen, why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been waiting here for an hour and a half!”

“ _You didn’t ask, Peter_ ,” the AI replied sarcastically. “ _Nor did you ask for the thermal imaging scanners to be turned on. I assumed you didn’t need the thermal imaging, since it seems you had business with people trying to enter the building, not those already inside.”_

Peter considered. _Damn sassy AI girls. She and FRIDAY should start a club._ “Next time something like this happens, tell me so I don’t feel stupid, please,” Peter pouted, landing on the roof.

“ _Of course, Peter,”_ Karen said sweetly. Peter scoffed half-heartedly.

He looked around the roof for any vents or airshafts he could slip in through, but saw something else. There was a small skylight he could easily slip in through to his right. Painstakingly slowly, he removed the glass, pausing every so often to make sure no one had noticed. Setting it carefully on the roof, he ducked his head over the edge, surveying the large room.

The first thing he noticed was how _big_ it was. He had a strange urge to shout _It’s bigger on the inside_!, because who doesn’t love Dr. Who? It was at least a forty foot drop to the ground, and the room itself was maybe 200 feet by 300 feet. He didn’t remember drug rings scoping out such large venues for distributions, and it added to the dread building in his gut.

That, and he didn’t see any kids. Had they all left already? If what Karen had said was true, and they’d been in here the whole time, was it possible the kids had gotten the drugs and left, and he’d missed them somehow?

He saw stacks of wooden crates against the back wall. Some people were milling around, rifling through the crates, Peter guessed to check the contents. Some people with clipboards were marking things off, discussing numbers and prices. _That must be the drug supply_ , he thought, though he couldn’t actually see inside the crates.

He crept along the ceiling silently, using his hands and feet to stick to the surface, then made his way to the farthest wall from the mass of people checking out the drugs. He counted twenty-three people in the room; sixteen were going through the boxes, six were stationed at the three entrances, two at each—each man armed with a machine gun…um, overkill— and there was one man who sat at a table off to the side, talking animatedly on the phone with someone, dressed in an expensive suit. He must run the operation.

The lights were dim, which helped him creep down the wall and behind some empty crates undetected. He still didn’t see any of the kids, but the shipment hadn’t been unloaded yet. So, maybe they were going to come later that night? He sighed. He could wait them out, but Aunt May would be _furious_ if he missed curfew…

He decided it would probably be easier to just secure the people in the room and call the police to come deal with the narcotics. Hopefully, it would keep the kids out of it. They’d hear about it, get freaked out that they could’ve gotten caught, and make better decisions.

Absently, he thought it was a little weird that he kept referring to them as kids, considering most of them were probably his age or older.

“Karen,” he whispered, “do I have any flash bang webs?”

“ _Yes, Peter,”_ Karen replied, popping the schematics up on his display. “ _You have three flash bang webs at your disposal. Would you like me to switch your web calibrations to accommodate?”_

“Yeah, thanks,” Peter said, hopping up on one of the boxes to get a better vantage point, still hidden behind some crates.

“ _Ready when you are, Peter,_ ” Karen said.

Peter took a deep breath and got ready. He’d aim the flash bang into the middle of the people around the supply, since that’s where the most people were. The guards would be surprised, but not stunned; he’d take out the two by the main entrance first. If he did it quickly enough, he could take out two more before the last pair got their bearings back.

The majority of people would still be stunned from the flash bang, so he could probably web them up pretty easily, and then the one guy on the phone would be a piece of cake. He could leave the crime scene all nice and gift-wrapped for the police, and hopefully they’d stop trying to shoot him.

His plan formulated, he aimed his web-shooter and fired the flash bang, shielding his eyes.

The web was aimed perfectly in the center of the group. The loud noise startled everyone in the room and disoriented the people checking the boxes, who staggered back, rubbing their eyes, or sank to the ground, maybe fearing it was a gunshot. Peter jumped into action, webbing the two closest guards to the wall and webbing their guns about fifteen feet up on the wall before anyone could react.

He webbed up the other two guards across the room and was just about to web some of the people stunned by the flash bang when a god-awful noise hit his ears.

It was high-pitched keening sound that caused Peter unbearable agony. Peter screamed, though he couldn’t hear himself—he wouldn’t think he was making any noise if he couldn’t feel the vibrations in his vocal cords—and fell to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears. The people in the room were uncomfortable with the sound, but nothing like Spiderman with his enhanced senses.

Peter fell on his side on the floor, pressing his hands over his ears, still screaming, crying, begging for something to make the noise stop. Oh, God, this was—this was _agony_ , this was _torture_ , what—

He couldn’t even think the pain was so bad. He felt himself curl unconsciously into a ball, trying to make himself small enough to not be seen, to not hear, _anything_ to stop the noise.

It didn’t stop, though, and it continued for so long he thought it may have been years. His throat was soon raw, but the screams kept coming, and coming, and the sound kept _going_ …

And suddenly, it was quiet.

Peter sobbed in relief, dropping his hands from his ears, feeling them wet. Was it so bad that he _bled_? His fists curled against the cold floor. He tried to push himself up, but his muscles were quivering. His entire body shook. He could barely move.

His ears were still ringing, but he could hear someone’s garbled speech. Something about someone’s job being done? Maybe yelling at someone to get out? Peter didn’t know, nor did he care. His breathing was labored as the tears came faster, because now that he wasn’t in agony, he had enough presence of mind to be utterly _terrified_.

He heard someone say his name. Well, not _Peter_ , but _Spiderman_. He blearily opened his eyes, looking at the form crouched in front of him. Even through the haze, he could see his face—it was the man who’d tipped him off about this place. The man in sunglasses, who’d given him such a bad feeling.

His breath hitched as the man smiled smugly, reaching out slowly towards his face…no. No, no, nononono not his _mask_ —

Peter reached up weakly, trying to block the man’s hand, simultaneously trying to inch away from him, but the man just smirked and seized Peter’s wrist, holding it away as he tore the mask fluidly off.

Peter had never felt more naked.

His eyes widened as he stared at the man holding his mask without the comforting tint of the white lenses. The man held his shaking wrist in a bone-crushing grip above his head. “Damn. You really are just a kid.”

Peter tried to jerk his wrist away, but he was still weak from… _whatever_ that had been. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth when he tried to speak. “W-what…did you d-do to m-me?”

“Oh, I _invented_ that,” he said haughtily, like it was the greatest thing in the world. “It’s harmless to normal humans, but for those with enhanced senses, like yourself, it’s quite the nightmare,” he said with a grin. “Very debilitating. You shouldn’t be able to move much for…oh, an hour? Maybe 45 minutes or so?”

Peter grit his teeth. He let go of his wrist, and Peter shakily lowered it to the floor, not having the strength to strike at him. “What d-do you want f-from me?”

“Oh, the _billion_ -dollar question,” he said grandly, tossing the mask carelessly beside Peter and turning away, walking towards a table. Peter used all his strength to snag the mask and drag it closer to his mouth. “I suppose you thought I wanted you specifically, as I set this entire charade up to catch you. I do respect your individuality and your importance as a hero, but I don’t really care about you or what you do. I _do_ care that Tony Stark seems to have a real soft spot for you.” He grinned maliciously, turning to look at his. “I’m sure he’ll come to rescue you when I call.”

Peter’s heart hammered in his chest. He had to warn Mr. Stark.

“Oh, how careless of me,” he said, hurrying back over to Peter and snatching the mask away. “I forgot about your pesky little AI. No, you won’t be warning him. It seems that my device is wearing off faster than I initially thought.” He rubbed his chin with one hand, the mask dangling loosely from his fingers in the other. “Guards, you remember those enhanced restraints I whipped up? Bring them.”

A burly man lumbered towards Peter with metal cuffs in hand, a short chain connecting them. The cuffs were huge, probably covering a good bit of Peter’s forearms as well as the tops of his fingers.

“Cuff him, please,” the man said disinterestedly, pulling a phone from his jacket pocket and dialing a number. The burly man easily cuffed Peter, despite his pathetic squirming. His hands were now fastened securely behind his back, with almost no room to adjust. Peter could barely wiggle his fingers in the cuffs. He gave them an experimental tug.

A blinding pain shot up his forearms, his arms, his shoulders, his chest, and a scream ripped from his throat. The pain subsided as his arms went limp, and his ragged breathing filled his ears.

“Oh, yes, don’t pull on them,” the man said, as though it were an afterthought.

_Wow, thanks for that_ now.

Peter blearily realized that the man had walked back over to him and had brought a chair, sitting down right beside him. The burly man reached down and seized Peter by the back of the collar of his costume, hauling him into a sitting position on the floor, keeping him upright. The man held the twisted fabric tight around his neck, so it was more of a noose. Peter’s wheezing echoed in the big room, and he could feel the pressure building in his head.

“Stark.”

Peter’s breath hitched at the familiar voice. Oh, God, he wanted Mr. Stark to come save him…but he didn’t want the man to get hurt. Not because of him. No, he…he couldn’t lose a third father figure.

“Hey there, Stark,” the man said with a grin. “How’s life treating you these days? I heard your little boy band broke up. How unfortunate.”

Silence for a couple seconds, and then a disbelieving voice: “Hammer. Justin Hammer. You’re supposed to be in jail.”

“ _Supposed_ to be,” the man—Hammer—said snidely. “Unfortunately for you, I have friends in high places.”

“You asshole, tell me where you are so I can come kick the living shit out of you,” Mr. Stark’s angry voice floated through the phone.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Hammer said confidently. “I’m at an abandoned warehouse in Queens. It’s red, with very distinct dragon graffiti. Corner of Old York Avenue and thirty first street.”

A pause. “What’s your game, Hammer?”

He chuckled. “Oh, you were always clever, Stark.” He reached out and seized Peter’s chin, jerking his heavy head up. “I’ve got something of yours, and I figured you’d come to get it back.”

“You son of a bitch. Pepper’s safe, don’t you dare try that trick with me.”

“No, not the lovely Pepper this time, Stark,” he said, grinning straight at Peter. “Go on, say hi to Tony.”

The burly man twisted the fabric even tighter, and Peter choked on his own words, struggling to draw breath. “D-don’t come—” He wheezed before his breath ran out. He started struggling in earnest, twisting as far as he could without activating the cuffs, because _he couldn’t breathe_.

“Release him,” Hammer said dismissively. “You’re going to strangle him if you’re not careful.”

With a grunt, the grip on Peter’s costume disappeared, and he fell on his side, coughing violently, convulsing as he took deep breaths, one after the other.

“You bastard,” Mr. Stark seethed, and he could hear his absolute rage even through the phone. “You son of a bitch, don’t you _dare_ touch him.”

“He’s a little banged up, nothing to be concerned over, Stark,” Hammer said happily, a wild gleam in his eye. “Now, you’re going to come and surrender yourself, and my nice men are going to take you to some undisclosed location and…well, you know the rest. But you’re to tell no one, you’re not to leave any clues behind, and you’re not to bring any of your fancy toys, either. You know what? Scratch that, you can take your suit, so you’ll be here sooner. I’m more than confident you won’t try anything, because I’ve got this kid right where I want him. I’ll know if you do anything I don’t like, and you know what, Stark? I won’t touch a hair on your head. I’ll take it all out on the kid in front of me, you hear me?”

“I’m going to murder you where you stand,” Tony ground out.

“Now, Stark, that’s no way to treat your host,” he said giddily. “Good sir, why don’t you give Spiderman here a little attention, hm?”

Without preamble, the guard circled around and kicked Peter in the stomach once, twice, three times. Peter couldn’t stop the cry that escaped his lips. He curled instinctively around his ribs, feeling them break under the man’s boot, but that stretched the cuffs, and the pain tore through him again and he screamed until the pain subsided, then lay there whimpering.

God, this was a nightmare. Peter wanted to go home. He wanted to lay on the couch with his aunt and watch a movie and drink hot chocolate. He wanted to build the Death Star with Ned, he wanted MJ to make fun of him for something and draw an embarrassing picture of him, he wanted Tony to show him how to hack his principal’s computer, and help him improve his web-shooters. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

He heard Tony yelling through the phone, sounding terrified, but he couldn’t make out most of the words through the haze. Knowing Tony, that was probably a good thing.

“You hear me, Stark?” Hammer said, playfulness gone. He was all business now. “You have ten minutes, or I start having some fun with him. Trust me, I’d _love_ to see what makes your spider tick.”

With that, he hung up, putting the phone on the table. He glanced at Peter with something akin to mad curiosity. “So, Spiderman. Looks like we have a bit of time to get to know each other.”

Peter said nothing, but he started breathing heavier. He wouldn’t tell this monster anything.

“So, let’s start with introductions,” he said, leaning forward, looking down on Peter like he was a bug under his shoe. “I’m Justin Hammer, as you know now. What’s your name?”

Peter said nothing.

“Mm, shy?” He said, grinning. “I sort of hoped that would be the case. Sir, convince him, please.”

“Wait,” Peter croaked. He was digging his own grave. He knew this would suck. But he just _really_ wanted to say it. “I’m…wait, just…knock, knock.”

Hammer furrowed his eyebrows in contemplation. “Are you serious.”

“Just _do_ it.”

Hammer leaned back, crossing his arms in annoyance. “Fine. I’ll indulge you. Who’s there?”

“Doctor.”

“Doctor who?”

And Peter lost it. He cackled up a storm. He laughed so much he thought he might be going crazy, but he had ten minutes to distract this man in any way he could, because he wasn’t telling him anything of value. The laughing made his ribs hurt, made them stretch and ache in ways they shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop.

When he noticed that Hammer wasn’t laughing, he groaned in fake annoyance, but really his pulse was racing. He was terrified. “Oh, come on, that was good! Doctor Who? You know, the British TV show? BBC? Where you a repressed child? I feel bad for you. No wonder you grew up to be a psychotic maniac who goes around threatening billionaires and kidnapping superheroes.”

Hammer’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t waste my time, boy. You won’t like the outcome. What’s your name?”

Peter swallowed. “Whoa, tough crowd. Um…it’s Steve.” Sorry, Captain America. It’s for a good cause.

“Steve,” Hammer repeated slowly. “Somehow, I have a hard time believing that.”

“Oh, come on!” Peter said again. “You asked for my name, and I gave it to you. I’m Steve. What else do you want?”

“A last name,” he said. “So I can make sure you’re not lying to me.”

Oh, whoops. “Uh, can I maybe not?”

“I don’t recall _asking_ ,” Hammer said. Oh, he was getting irritated now. Uh-oh. “Tell me your full name. Or my friend here is going to make sure you never forget mine.”

“I don’t think I’ll forget yours,” Peter said shakily. “I mean, Justin’s pretty normal, but you’re named after a tool. You’re a _literal_ tool. Oh my gosh, you could totally replace MC Hammer when he retires, and then it would be legit!”

“Enough!” Hammer yelled, getting to his feet and stalking over to Peter. He grabbed him by the throat and picked him up easily. Peter felt his toes brush the floor. Oh, God, _no,_ not _again_. He needed to _breathe_! Hammer jerked him forward until their noses were almost touching. “I have complete power over you, do you understand that? Right now, I decide whether you live or die, so if I were you, I would show me the respect I deserve.”

Peter wheezed faintly, barely able to draw breath. The pressure in his head was astounding. His eyes hurt, and he could practically feel the blood vessels swelling in his eyes, his eyelids, his face. He had to consciously resist the urge to reach up and claw at Hammer’s hand, because if he did that, the cuffs would activate.

“Go to hell,” he choked out. Mr. Stark would be here within five minutes. _Just five minutes, Peter. You can last that long._

Hammer grinned. “Only if you come with me, boy.”

Peter’s eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and the blood flow to his brain was being compromised. If Hammer strangled him for the four and a half minutes he had left, he’d definitely die. But he could feel Hammer’s arm shaking from the strain, so that was a plus—Peter wasn’t be any means heavy, but Hammer wasn’t by any means _strong_.

Finally, with a huff, Hammer tossed Peter away. Peter landed on the concrete floor, coughing. His vision was hazy, the room swimming, the colors bleeding into each other. Peter panted, gasping in precious air like there was no tomorrow. Four minutes left. Four minutes left, Peter.

He opened his mouth to let out another comment, but Hammer beat him to it. “I have four minutes, boy, and you know what? I think I’m sick of hearing you talk. So, you’re going to listen.” He got up out of his chair and crouched beside Peter, who was lying on his side on the ground. Hammer grabbed Peter’s chin and held his head at an incredibly awkward angle, looking him dead in the eyes. Peter tried to jerk away, but everything up to this point had taken a lot out of him, even with his enhanced strength. “I’ve had people watching Tony Stark for _months_. You think I don’t know your name, _Peter_?” Hammer grinned as Peter’s breath hitched, eyes widening. “I’ve seen the way you two interact, and I’ve researched your tragic backstory. Two father figures dead, hm? In a way, both because of you. How will it feel to have your third father die because of you? I imagine it will be simply _crushing_.”

Peter was close to hyperventilating. Hammer’s words had hit home, point blank. _Ican’tIcan’tnotagainnotagainpleasepleasepleasenoTonydon’tcomeplease—_

“You can watch me, if you’d like,” Hammer said, dropping Peter’s heavy head, letting it thunk against the concrete. The dull pain was lost amidst Peter’s panic. “Watch me as I gut him like a pig. As he bleeds in front of you, while you do nothing. Or, I can cut you a deal.” Hammer grinned like a shark, sitting down gracefully in his chair. “You won’t have to watch. I’ll let you walk free, not a scratch, before I kill him. Or, I can kill you instead, and he goes free. Not a scratch. Not a hair touched.” Hammer grinned. “He’ll probably send me straight back to jail. Might even kill me, but you know what?” He crouched in front of Peter again, running a hand through his sweaty brown locks. Peter tried to shy away, but he suddenly gripped his hair firmly, leaving no room for escape. “I’ll have broken Stark, and that’s all that matters, really. He’ll continue surviving, but I know that your death will break him completely, Peter. You’re going to be the reason he suffers for the rest of his life, or the reason he dies. So…which will it be?”

Peter had tears trailing down his face, despite his efforts to keep them away. He looked right at Hammer with something between terror, horror, shock, and disgust. How could a man be this cruel? This warped, this…this _insane_?

Peter jolted when Hammer tightened his grip. “Well? Peter, we really don’t have time for you to think about every little pro and con. What’ll it be?”

Peter thought. He thought furiously. Emotionally, he tried to detach himself, thinking logically. If Peter died, hundreds, maybe thousands, would die in New York without him, over time. There would be no one to stop a brutal mugging, a tragic break-in, a devastating robbery. The police were good, but they couldn’t be everywhere. Aunt May would have no one. She would sit alone in her apartment and cry for hours. Peter didn’t know if she would be able to bear it, losing him. And then, Peter would cease to exist. Peter Parker would die tragically. Ned, MJ, even _Flash_. He’d disappear from everyone’s lives. Just…fade.

If Tony died, Stark Industries would crumble, demolishing some of the best tech and some of the brightest ideas to ever enhance the world. Pepper would keep it running for as long as she could, but without Tony’s brilliant mind, it would fall. The Avengers, what was left of them, would disperse, and the world would constantly be at risk from both domestic and foreign threats. Forget hundreds, thousands. Millions. Billions would die.

And Peter would lose him. Peter would lose Tony.

Peter didn’t think he could live with himself if that happened.

The choice was obvious. Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. Rasping, he managed, “Don’t…don’t hurt him. Please. Just…just kill me now, please don’t make him watch.”

Hot tears dripped steadily, cutting tracks through the sheen of sweat on his face. He shivered in revulsion at Hammer’s pleased grin, wincing when he was released. “Duly noted, Peter. I’ll inform Stark of your decision. Unfortunately, you don’t get the luxury of stipulations. Gag him,” he said to the burly man who’d made Peter’s time here hell.

“Wait—” Peter tried to protest, but that was all the opportunity the guard needed to shove a dirty cloth in his mouth, tying it at the back of his head, effectively muffling any garbled sound he made.

Just as the knot was tied, the ceiling exploded.

Iron Man touched down noisily, and the faceplate flipped up to reveal a livid Tony Stark. His gauntleted hand was outstretched, the whir of a charging repulsor loud in Peter’s ears. Peter’s wide eyes locked onto Tony’s, and he was the first thing Tony’s eyes landed on. Peter could tell he was furious, but not at him.

As Tony had touched down, the guard had stood and pointed the long machine gun at Peter’s head, the muzzle just brushing his locks of hair. Peter shuddered and bit down on the gag. Tony glared at the guard and then at the gun, as if he could melt it with his gaze.

“Hammer, let him the hell go so I can kick your ass,” he ground out, barely restraining himself. Peter was shaking. God, Mr. Stark was going to have to watch him die.

_No_ , Peter thought, shaking himself. _There has to be a way. There_ has _to be a way_.

Hammer smirked. “A pleasure to see you too, Stark. Actually, there’s been a change of plans. Step out of the suit, please.”

“You’re funny, Hammer.”

“Now, Stark. Unless you’d like my friend here to give _Peter_ some attention.” Mr. Stark’s eyebrow twitched when he realized Hammer knew his name. Peter watched the exchange wide-eyed, trying furiously to think of a plan, failing miserably.

Mr. Stark’s fist clenched. The facemask dropped back over his infuriated features, and piece by piece, the suit unfolded around him. Tony Stark stepped out, in jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt. He had grease marks on his arms and hands, and a little streak on his forehead. He’d probably been in the garage, Peter thought distantly.

Hammer bared his teeth, grinning. “Mr. Anthony Stark. I’ve been waiting a long, _long_ time for this.”

“Great, fine, dandy,” Mr. Stark said, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Now give me the kid. I’m here, I did what you asked.”

Peter wanted to call out. To yell at Mr. Stark to run and not look back, but he knew it would be useless. Mr. Stark wouldn’t leave him. Peter closed his eyes tightly, feeling the tears leak down his face unbidden.

_Peter didn’t want to die_.

“Patience, Anthony,” Hammer drawled, waving his hands back at the other guards. Two of them came up to stand behind Peter, and the others circled around Mr. Stark, trapping him. The suit remained hovering in sentry mode behind him. Mr. Stark’s knuckles were white, hands fisted at his sides. “I’ve told you already. Plans have changed.”

The two guards behind Peter grabbed him by his arms and yanked him into a kneeling position. Peter cried out as he was jostled, his body protesting, the sound muffled into the rag. Mr. Stark seethed, taking an angry step forward. “Look, Hammer, I did what you wanted. I don’t give two shits about your plan. I want my kid back, _now_.”

Hammer roughly cupped Peter’s jaw, bruises blossoming where his fingertips dug into his chin. Peter shut his eyes against the grip. “I made Peter another offer. It was simple, really. Either I could kill you, and Peter could walk away without a scratch…” Hammer grinned. “Or you could watch him die, and _you_ could walk away without a scratch. You can do whatever you’d like to me, afterwards. I’ll let you guess what Peter chose.”

Peter’s eyes opened and locked with Mr. Stark’s face. Peter expected him to look angry. Infuriated. Disappointed.

Peter’s vision was blurry as he gazed through his tears, but he didn’t expect to see Mr. Stark look…well, so sad.

“Peter,” Mr. Stark said, his voice hitched. He schooled his features and cleared his throat a little. “Hammer, I can make you a better offer than that. You can do whatever you want to me. I’ll give you anything you want. You can take anything from me, do anything to me.” He opened his mouth, closed it, then fisted his hands at his sides. “I’ll sign over Stark Industries to you right now. Is that what you want? You can have it all.”

Hammer’s eyes widened, a slow smile crawling across his face. “Damn, Stark. You’ve really let yourself go.” He dropped Peter’s chin. Peter’s head wobbled briefly on his shoulders before he exhaustedly steadied it. “You’d give up everything you’ve built, everything you’ve sacrificed? Everything your father created, for this kid you barely _know_?”

Peter shut his eyes and bit down on the gag to keep more tears from falling. No. Mr. Stark would see reason. He’d see that the world needed him more than they needed Peter—more than they needed Spiderman. Mr. Stark would—

“In a heartbeat.”

Peter’s brain stopped. Everything stopped. His eyes opened and settled on Mr. Stark’s face. He looked serious. His face was set in stone.

Tony really would, Peter realized. He’d sign it all over right now. It was plain on his face.

Peter was overwhelmed.

The tears fell, then.

Mr. Stark— _Tony_ —was willing to give up everything for him.

“Really,” Hammer said, that sickening smile still in place. “Mr. Anthony Stark. You _never_ cease to amaze me.” He rested a hand on Peter’s curls. Peter flinched. Tony’s nostrils flared. “Unfortunately, Peter and I have already come to an agreement, haven’t we, Peter?”

Peter started squirming, but the guards held him tightly. When he started struggling in earnest (which really wasn’t much of an improvement, considering he was still weak from Hammer’s hellish contraption), a quick brush from the muzzle of the machine gun quickly stilled his movements.

“So.” Hammer smiled. “How would you like me to kill him, Anthony?”

Peter didn’t think he’d ever seen Tony so angry. Not when he’d screwed up with the ferry, not when Captain America was running off with that Metal Armed Guy…never.

“You’re not going to touch him, jackass,” Tony snarled. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but _you don’t get him_.”

“But I _do_ , Stark!” Hammer shouted, his face crazed in delight. Peter shuddered. “I’ve already _got_ him! _You can’t do anything to protect him right now_!” Hammer lashed out with his fist, catching Peter in the eye. His head snapped sideways, and he couldn’t quite stop the grunt from leaving his mouth. Tony yelled and surged forward, but the remaining guards grabbed him, forcing him to his knees and keeping him there, even as he seized violently in an attempt to get free. “How does that _feel_ , Tony? Huh? You can’t _do_ anything! I can do whatever I want to this kid, and _you can’t stop me_! You can’t throw money at this, can you? Not your fancy toys, your company, yourself, _nothing_!” Hammer’s expression was frenzied, his actions wild and unpredictable.

_He’s losing it_ , Peter thought numbly. _Hammer’s really going off the deep end, now._

Breathing raggedly, Hammer slicked back his hair in an attempt to collect himself. Peter shuddered at the wild look in his eyes as Hammer turned to him.

“Forgive me,” he said slowly, though he didn’t sound particularly sorry. “Lost my composure for a moment, there.” He took a deep breath and held his hand out to one of his men, who obediently offered up his pistol. Without preamble, he pressed it roughly against Peter’s head, pushing it to one side.

Peter’s eyes squeezed shut involuntarily, and he bit down on the gag to keep silent. He sucked in a breath through his nose and held it, waiting. The waiting was _agony_.

“How do you feel, Anthony?” Hammer asked, jamming the gun harder into Peter’s skull. He sounded much calmer than before, but Peter knew that meant nothing. “I imagine pretty scared, hm?”

“Hammer,” Tony seethed, his eyes smoldering with dangerous rage that promised nothing but absolute destruction. “You have three seconds to get your gun away from my kid’s head before I tear you limb from limb.”

“Do I, now?” Hammer said, sounding even smugger than before. Peter was…trembling. He couldn’t even find the presence of mind to be embarrassed. Everything was warping around him, the panic was taking such a toll on his mind.

_May. What is she going to do without me?_ Peter thought desperately, the thoughts bouncing around in his head, turning over and over in his mind, enhancing his already chaotic state of mind. _It’s not fair. It’s not fair…I should’ve been home more, helped her more…she just lost Ben…!_

Peter slowly opened his eyes, the cold, oppressive circle of metal against his head almost overwhelming him, and locked eyes with Tony. Tony’s face was enraged, but his eyes softened when he saw Peter staring at him.

“Peter?” He said, ignoring the guards, ignoring Hammer. “It’s gonna be okay, kid.”

Peter didn’t see _how_ , but…he trusted him. He nodded feebly.

“Touching,” Hammer scoffed, cocking the gun and pressing it back against Peter’s head. “But pointless.”

Peter couldn’t stop the small whimper that rose in the back of his throat. God, he couldn’t _think_ with the gun this close to him…

“Not necessarily,” Tony said, eyeing Hammer with absolute fury. Somehow, his voice was level as ever. “You did your homework, Hammer. Scoping out the place. Setting up the fake drug deal—yeah, Happy told me about it. Even dropping the tip to the kid yourself. Hiring your muscle, tailing me…you put a lot of work into this.” Tony smiled, and it was the smile of a predator who had his prey unconditionally _cornered_. “But not quite enough.”

Hammer flinched, for the first time, looking apprehensively uncertain. “And what is that supposed to mean, Stark?”

“It means,” Tony said, curling his hands into fists, tensing his muscles, “that my boy band broke up, but I’ve still got some backup dancers to boot.”

And just as the words left his lips, War Machine crashed through the ceiling—making a hole comically similar to Iron Man’s—and taking out the guards surrounding Tony in three seconds flat.

The three guards on Peter jerked him up and back, his sore shoulders protesting. He dragged his feet, trying to make it difficult for them, but one of them could probably carry Peter by himself, easily.

Hammer spluttered and starting firing wildly with his handgun, squeezing off shot after shot. It bounced harmlessly off of War Machine’s armor as he stood defensively in front of Tony, whose own armor was still in sentry mode.

“You’re late, Honey Bear,” Tony said, eyes locked on Peter.

“You know me. I like dramatic entrances,” Rhodey replied, faceplate flipping up as Hammer ran out of bullets. “That’s your influence. Also, backup dancer? Really, man? I’m at least a kick-ass drummer.”

The one guard holding the machine gun and not Peter suddenly went down with a grunt. Still gagged, he whipped his head to the side, looking past the other guards to see Vision, with his _literal cape_ , standing over the downed man.

“I apologize for my tardiness, Stark,” he said, voice emotionless as ever.

Hammer looked around wildly, his panic palpable. “You won’t get away with this! I’ve still got your kid! I’ve still—”

In another two seconds, Vision had taken care of both guards holding Peter, and they crumpled on either side of him.

Consequently, they released Peter, taking away all his support. He fell to his knees on the cold concrete, slumping onto his side on the ground, exhausted.

He kept his eyes open long enough to see Vision crouch beside him, gently removing the gag. He coughed and worked his jaw. “Thanks,” he rasped. Vision simply nodded.

Peter flicked his eyes over to Hammer just in time to see Tony sock him in the face with all the force of a freight train, Iron Man gauntlet encasing his fist.

_Ouch_ , he thought. _That’s a broken face. Definitely don’t feel bad._

Peter let his eyes flutter shut, exhaustion taking over his body, but then he heard Tony frantically saying his name.

Worried hands took his shoulders, shaking them, gently but insistently. Peter’s eyes cracked, and he looked blearily up at his mentor, feeling darkness creep in on the edges of his vision.

“T’ny,” he said, his voice slurred. “Y’came…th…thanks.”

Tony blinked, then huffed a watery laugh, looking away. “ _This_ is what it takes for you to call me Tony?”

“Mm-hm,” Peter moaned, eyes slipping closed. “Jus…Jus’ gon…sleep for a lil’ while…”

“No, hey, don’t do that,” Tony said, the worry returning. “We’ve gotta check you out first, okay? Pete? C’mon, open—”

…

When Peter woke up, he never wanted to move again.

And it wasn’t just because he was sore—no, it was because this was the softest mattress he’d even been on, and he must have been under at least ten blankets, because he was so _warm_. Especially his hand. Why was his hand so warm?

“Pete?”

Tony’s voice jolted him into full awareness. He peeled his eyelids apart, which was much harder than it should’ve been. “Tony?”

“Hey, kid.” His face swam into view, looking exhausted. “How are you feeling?”

Peter did a mental inventory. “I’m sore, but I’m okay. My ears hurt?”

Tony nodded, looking serious. “Hammer’s tech did a number on your eardrums. Don’t worry, they’ll heal with no permanent damage, but you may have a bit of ringing for a couple days.”

He nodded gently, afraid of jostling his head too much, and sat up. Tony put a steadying hand on his back. “Are you okay? And Vision and Colonel Rhodes?”

“Oh, God, just call him Rhodey,” Tony said, making a face. Peter gave him a sleepy grin. “Colonel Rhodes is so…stuffy. And yeah, we’re all fine.”

“What happened to Hammer?” Peter asked, anticipation filling his bones.

“Well,” Tony said, scrubbing a hand down his unshaven face. “I wanted to kill him, but Rhodey stopped me. He’s back in jail. Maximum security prison with my own guards. He’s never getting out again.”

Peter sighed, closing his eyes against the memory of the gun pressed to his temple, of Hammer’s is hand around his throat. “Good.”

Tony sighed, squeezing his hand. “You…scared me, kid. I thought I was gonna lose you to that bastard.”

Then Peter looked at Tony. He really, really looked at him. “Was…was it true? Would you really have…signed over SI, for me?”

He was having a hard time believing it, after the fact. It was…a multi-billion-dollar company, with connections worldwide. It was a huge global competitor in the business world. Who would just hand it over?

But his doubts were unequivocally dashed when Tony looked at him like he’d grown three heads. “Of course. Companies, objects, those things can be replaced. Where in the hell am I gonna find another kid like you?”

“Any comic book store anywhere,” he deadpanned, but inside, his heart felt light. He grinned. “Thanks for…for coming for me.”

Tony got serious pretty quickly, looking me in the eye. “Peter, anytime you’re in danger, anytime you need me…I’m gonna come, no matter what I’m doing. You understand me?”

Peter nodded, looking away. “I know. But…I was…I was just, uh…really scared.”

Tony sighed through his nose. “I know. You were really brave, kiddo, but…God, if ever you have a choice like that again, choose to live, okay? Don’t…don’t ever offer yourself up like that. I couldn’t…I couldn’t do that.”

“I know, but…I couldn’t lose you either,” Peter admitted, still looking away, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “I mean…I…I know that you’re… _Iron Man_ and _Tony Stark_ , but…to me, you’re…more. And I couldn’t…lose somebody else.”

A few seconds a silence stretched by. Peter grew embarrassed, thinking he’d said too much, but Tony surprised him by pulling him into a hug, his hand cupping the back of Peter’s head gently against his shoulder. All Peter could smell was oil, grease, and his cologne…a scent he’d come to associate with Tony months ago.

“I know. You’re not gonna lose me, kid. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Hesitantly, Peter wrapped his arms around him, mumbling a muffled “okay” into his t-shirt, relishing the feeling of safety.

Then Peter remembered.

“OH MY GOD AUNT MAY’S GOING TO KILL ME!”

“Remember how I said I’d help you through anything? I take that back. You’re on your own with that one.”

“TONY!”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Love my kids. Peter and Tony are everything. Please leave a comment / Kudos if you liked it!


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